


morning

by necrosisjones



Category: Destiny (Video Games)
Genre: Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Multi, Reader-Insert, morning ridiculousness at the Drifter manor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-01
Updated: 2019-12-01
Packaged: 2021-02-25 20:53:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21631741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/necrosisjones/pseuds/necrosisjones
Summary: Drifter is on the floor, doing his best to gather what you think is ammo rolling around him. He doesn’t notice you at first, not until you clear your throat to get his attention and greet him with a smile. He looks up immediately, a few bullets falling out of his hand, and returns the smile, though it’s more like a grin - mischievous, almost devilish, one that you enjoy so much.
Relationships: The Drifter (Destiny)/Reader, The Drifter/Guardian (Destiny)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 68





	morning

**Author's Note:**

> I needed to write something silly and at least slightly more positive than my last work so here we are; featuring Drifter's achy breaky joints and the Guardian's questionable choice in men

The sound of something metallic spilling on the ground, followed by a string of curses, is what it takes to wake you up. You rub your eyes lazily before propping yourself up on your elbows to get a good look around the room.

 _The room_. You keep forgetting that The Derelict doesn’t exactly offer any rooms; a bomb shelter with a camp bed, makeshift desks and dozens of supply crates can hardly be considered a room.

Drifter is on the floor, doing his best to gather what you think is ammo rolling around him. He doesn’t notice you at first, not until you clear your throat to get his attention and greet him with a smile. He looks up immediately, a few bullets falling out of his hand, and returns the smile, though it’s more like a grin - mischievous, almost devilish, one that you enjoy so much.

“Finally awake,” he says, before returning to the ammo.

“ _Finally_? What time is it?”

“Don’t know, probably early,” he shrugs, holding a single bullet up to the light, turning it in his fingers. “Too late for a Guardian, that’s for sure.”

“Then why are _you_ up already?”

“Got work to do.”

You squint, your eyes still not focusing properly, trying to see what kind of work he’s talking about. For a moment you want to sit up, you even try to, but your movement is instantly restricted by the sleeping bag. You aren’t complaining though, as you’re quickly reminded how awfully cold it is when the freezing air finds its way under the covers. You choose to turn to your side instead, tugging at the additional blanket to cover yourself all the way to your chin, and ask, “What exactly are you doing?”

Without a word, he reaches for something on the table, patting around for a while before finding it, at last. With only a little bit of trouble to do it with one hand, he picks it up and lifts it high enough for you to see.

It’s a gun. Of course it’s a gun. You’d expect nothing else from Drifter himself. After all, you’ve already had a chance to find out that the legends are true - he does sleep with a gun underneath his pillow…

But it’s not just any gun. It’s a submachine gun, your favorite weapon type, one you’ve been using for as long as you can remember. This can’t be a coincidence, can it? You’d like to think that it isn’t.

“New Gambit reward?” you ask again, despite already knowing the answer.

“Yeah. Gotta load it up so no one thinks ol’ Drifter is stingy.”

You can’t help but to smile. It’s ridiculous, the lengths this man will go to just to ensure himself some powerful allies, or at least a few Guardians inclined to work for him; though what he'd need them for remains a mystery. You’ve already noticed that he’s been preparing for something lately, but you can never be too sure - Drifter has never been eager to share his plans with you. Perhaps he’s just making sure that no one and nothing gets to catch him by surprise? Or maybe he’s simply paranoid? You don’t know; you don’t even know if you _want_ to know.

Still, you’re glad that he allows you to be this close, that he trusts you enough to fall asleep next you almost every night - you know not many have had a chance like that. There’s something almost charming about this. If it were anyone else, you’d think this could be a matter of feelings. But it’s Drifter and you know better than to believe in something like that.

“So when am _I_ getting this weapon?” you speak, hoping to stop yourself from overthinking this.

He laughs, loud and sincerely, like he rarely does anymore, and shakes his head. “You ain’t getting a free pass for the weapons. You still gotta play Gambit if you want ‘em, just like everybody else.”

Of course, business is business. But you still want your fair share anyway. “What do I get a free pass for, then?” you persist.

He knows you well, sometimes you feel like he’s known you right from the moment you first met; he can immediately tell exactly what’s on your mind.

“I think you got somethin’ last night,” he snorts, looking up to meet your eyes. “All kinds of somethin’.”

“And you think that’s enough for your favorite player?”

Without a word, he gets up, and you have a hard time stopping yourself from laughing when his joints crack as he straightens up. Sometimes you forget how old he is. It’s strange to think how much more of the System he’s seen, how many people he’s already messed up with. It’s surprising that he’s still alive, when you consider that most of his associates are long dead. You have no doubt your time will come, too - someday you will be caught in the crossfire. But for now… For now you get to enjoy yourself, at least for a short while

You shake the thoughts away as he sits down on the bed, right by your side. “Anything I can do for you?” you ask and bite your lips.

“A whole lot, hotshot.”

You’ve grown fond of this word. It’s not just a nickname anymore, not when he’s using it for you. It feels like there’s an entire _galaxy_ of meaning behind it now.

He leans in and you can’t help it but to cradle his face in your hands. You rarely have the mornings to yourselves - you’d have to be a fool to let an opportunity like this pass. He smiles as your fingers tangle into his beard, doesn’t protest when you pull him closer. Your lips aren’t even an inch away from his, but he doesn’t seem to be willing to move any more. You’d be annoyed by his teasing if you didn’t enjoy it so much; if you didn’t enjoy _him_ so much.

“So what will it be, _sir_?” you whisper, impatient, hoping that his answer will align with what you have on your mind. And oh, do you have a lot on your mind.

“Get your ass to Gambit,” comes an answer, and the only thing you can do is to huff in surprise, blinking a few times. “You have a match scheduled in 15 minutes.”

And just like that, he’s gone - back to toying with the ammo and his brand new gun on the ground. No longer bothered by the cold, you sit up, struggling to get the sleeping bag to move with you. “I was hoping for a kiss, you know.”

He chuckles and his shoulders shake - it has to be the sight you adore the most. “Win the match and we’ll think about that.”

Oh, is this how he wants to play? Fine, you’ll gladly play along. You can’t wait to see his face when you return with a full victory streak tonight.


End file.
